The Record
by Morning
Summary: You just gotta read it!


I do not own the Biker Mice from Mars they belong to their creators. I write this for my own entertainment and I will make no profit. For help in tweaking this story into a more readable fashion, I thank Red/Mez for her skill and guidance. 

This one is dedicated to my son Sajid, whose bright mind and gentle spirit will stay in my heart until we see each other again.

The Record 

By Morning

Rewrite

2002

As with many other mornings, this one found her sitting on a bluff overlooking the red, scared plains of her once-flourishing world. Her heart ached to see what the war had done to the once lush landscape, but through it all, the majestic Red lady had managed to keep a certain kind of dignity and beauty that no one could take away. You had to look a little harder maybe, but it was still there. 

The tall, mature, female Martian used her skilled hands and fingers to capture that beauty in her own way. At times, it was her people struggling against all odds to survive, other times it was faces of weary warriors who gave their all to defend their homes.  Today it was a small patch of lavender and green flowers that had miraculously managed to survive.  She took her time, making sure that it was all gathered and kept safe.  But now that time was over and she had to return, to tend to her part in the regaining of her home. As she packed her bag, a smile crossed her face and she wondered if her secret observer was still there, as he had been so many times in the past.

Behind a small outcropping of rocks, a young, golden-haired youth scrambled to the ground and tried to beat her back to the base, hoping she hadn't seen or heard him. Again, he couldn't make out what she had been writing, having remained too far away to see clearly. He liked watching her though, and felt a strangely close attachment to her, even if she didn't know it. Maybe it was the soft, caramel-brown color of her fur, or the very short, curly hair, so unlike most Martian woman. Or perhaps it was those gentle, hazel eyes that could melt your heart with just a glance. 

She wasn't a fighter; in fact, she refused to touch any kind of weapons. She didn't ride a bike and unlike many at the base, she loathed root beer and rock music. But what really amazed him was her attitude; she willingly did whatever menial tasked needed to be done. Prepare food, clean, help in the infirmary; it didn't matter, she was there to be used any way she could. Sometimes it was the smallest of things; like sitting with a wounded freedom fighter, using her lilting voice to comfort him. Other times, she'd simply listen while they talked; about lost family, their hopes, what they wanted for Mars, what ever they need to talk about.  She was always there to hold a hand. For many, she would simply sit and hold their hands until they slipped away to their final peace. She was the small light of hope the whole based depend on.

As she walked back into the base, she had to chuckle a little, thinking how hard he worked at trying not to let her know he had been spying on her. Heading towards her quarters a voice stopped her, making her turn and she smiled at the gentle giant.

"Morning, Sunshine, how is the brightest star in the galaxy today?" Modo's day wasn't really started until he saw her and he gave her a big bear hug, one she heartily returned. 

Even though he was such a giant to be as young as he was, his kind manner and gentle spirit endeared him to her. "I'm fine now, Sugah. How is that wounded leg feeling this morning? Are you taking care of it?" 

"Yeah, it was no big deal. They patched me up and I'm as good as new."

"Oh, is that right? Funny, I could have sworn I heard the doctor say you had to stay off it for at least two days." She said with a sly smile and crossed her arms in a very motherly and authoritative fashion.

Modo realized when she gave him _that_ look, she wasn't about to let him get away with going against the doctor's orders.

"Okay, Lovebug, back to the infirmary. You don't want it to get infected, do you?"

She took him by the arm and walked with him back to his bed for that rest. Modo didn't argue; he knew it wasn't going to do him any good. She had a way of making the most stubborn, hard-core freedom fighter do what she wanted. 

After getting Modo settled, her day continued as it normally did, if anything could be considered normal at that time. Between the attacks by the Plutarkians and the Sandraiders doing their worst, normal was something she hadn't known for quite some time. When the day ended, she gathered the large brown satchel she was often seen with and was on her way out again. 

As she was about to leave Stoker stopped her.  "Hey Sweetie, you going out alone again?

You'd better be careful, the Sandraiders have been acting up a lot lately."

"I know, Stoke, but this is something I have to do. I know how to take care of myself so don't worry.  It will only give you gray hair," she teased, "and no, I am not going to take a blaster with me and no, I don't want a bike."  She pecked him on the cheek, smiling, and was on her way.

 Throttle waited until she was out of earshot before walking up behind Stoker.

"Why do you let her go out like that, she could get herself killed?" 

"Look, rookie, she's not part of the freedom fighters like we are. She comes and goes as she pleases."

"Where did she come from anyway?" it was something Throttle had always wanted to ask.  Stoker paused before answering.

"Well, a few years ago we found her about a mile or two away from here. She didn't have any information telling who she was. We brought her back and got her healthy and she just stayed. First, doing little things, then we found her doing everything. Stuff that many would have complained about, she did and was glad to help. We all started to depend on her and now she's part of the place."

"So why doesn't she have a name? I mean, you guys call her Sweetheart, Sunshine, stuff like that, but no real name." 

"That's the way the lady wants it, and who are we to question her?" Stoker said ruffling Throttle's hair. "Don't sweat it Rookie. She knows what she's doin'."

Throttle watched Stoker walk away, and then turned to follow the woman as he'd done many times before.

She walked a little way, knowing that she was being followed but not overly concerned about it. Her instincts were very sharp and she knew her rather noisy pursuer wasn't a threat. Finding the spot she'd been seeking, she sat, closing her eyes and letting the air rush into her lungs as she took in a deep breath. Out of the satchel she removed a pencil, a few colored pieces of chalk and a sketchpad.

Throttle continued to spy and as usual.  He couldn't quite see what she was doing, so he dared to ease closer than he'd ever been before.

As her hand pulled through the short, salt and pepper curls that covered her head, the day's events and people she'd dealt with replayed in her mind.  Silently she began to put something down on the paper and when she was finished, another part of their history was captured.

"Would you like to see?" 

Her voice surprised the flaxen-haired young warrior, almost making him fall from his hiding place. 

Standing quickly, he brushed himself off and tried not to be too embarrassed. 

"How long did you know I was there?"

A slight grin appeared as she teased, "You may be a great fighter, but you have to be the noisiest tracker I have ever heard.  Pretty much since we left the base and every other time you've come to watch me." 

He laughed, knowing that she was only too right. 

"What have you been doing?"

"Come sit next to me and I will show you, but this has to be our secret, okay?"  She patted a spot on the ground close to where she sat.

He shrugged in agreement and took a seat. Then she placed some of her treasures in his lap. To his wonder and surprise they were drawings! Drawings of everything, from scenes of Mice who had suffered in prison camps to pictures of Mars itself. After what the Plutarkians had done and where still doing, he never thought of his home as a particularly beautiful place any longer, but through her vision, he could see all the wonder that his planet still held. The cool darkness of the starry nights, the fiery reds and oranges of the Martian desert, she had put it all down.

 Then he saw faces of those who were closest to him and things in those faces that revealed their very souls. In Stoker, he saw the father they all depended on for survival, in Modo, the kind compassionate older brother he loved so much, and in Vinnie, the kid brother who looked to him for guidance and direction. Even in the picture of Carbine he saw the gentle sweet beauty she tried to hide behind the tough army exterior, but what shocked him most was his own portrait. 

"Man, do I look like that, like some lost little kid?"

"Yes, Throttle, you do. I see someone much older than his years, having the whole world on his shoulders and not knowing how to fix the battered world he's been thrown into." 

Throttle looked at her then dropped his head. "You know, that's just how I feel. Like it's all up to me to find a way to end this nightmare.  Crazy, huh?"

"No more crazy then the rest of us," she said, as she touched his shoulder to turn him to face her.

"You know, my son would have been just about your age and he was serious like you." Her hand lovingly moved to hold his face in her palm.

"I didn't know you had a family?" Throttle had always wanted to know more about her but before this moment didn't dare ask about her past.

"Yes, I did," she said as she slowly removed her hand. "My husband and three children. When the Plutakians destroyed our home, we were all captured. My husband was killed immediately and the rest of us were shipped to the work camp. My youngest son died about a month after we were there, he was never very strong. My daughter was taken to the lab and we never saw her again. Finally, my oldest son worked out a way for us to escape, but he was wounded in the attempt." Her voice was quiet and steady like she had to remember every detail of what happened. 

"Funny how I can still feel him warm in my arms sometimes, see him smile so peaceful before he finally closed his eyes." Her arms formed an empty cradle as she continued,  "Stoker and some others where out on patrol when they found us together out in the desert.  We buried my son there. Once they got me to the base and I got back on my feet, I had to find a way not to lose my mind, to deal with the loss of my family. I told Stoker I wanted to start doing this. He understood and helped me find what I need. It worked, so now I keep an on-going record of as many things and people as I can. For the future, so we will never forget."

She looked up from her reminiscing to see Throttle watching her, his eyes on the brink of tears. His voice heartbreakingly sad he told her, "It's hard to remember my mom's face.  It was only her and me. My dad was killed in a mining accident when I was a baby. Then she was killed in the attack on Hailstrome city three years ago. I try and keep her face in my mind, but she seems to be fading away.  Soon I will have lost her forever."

As she looked at the handsome young man, he no longer looked like the terror of the freedom fighters, just a hurt child who had done took much, seen too much and need to be held.

"Close your eyes, Throttle, and tell me all you can remember about her." The older mouse's voice was commanding, but soothing at the same time.

Throttle looked at her then closed his eyes and began to try and see his mother's face.

He pulled hard through his memory, but only a vague whisper of an image fought its way through.

"She'll almost gone," he said, hurting more than he could bear. He began to stand and leave, not wanting to think any more.

She held on to his shoulder, "Sit down, close your eyes, and let your heart speak."

"But I already tried and…" He protested

"You can do it, sweetie." Her smiled warmed him so that he had to at least try again.

As he did, she began singing an ancient Martian lullaby. One her mother had sung for her, and she had sung for her own children, an almost haunting melody as old as the Martian sand. Her soothing voice filled his head and heart and as it did, he began to remember, little things at first, but more and more as her song continued.  The Artist's hand moved silently as she began weaving the pieces of his memories into one image. 

Before long he was quiet and his face was wet with tears. She moved closer to him gently putting her hand on his shoulder, showing him the portrait she'd created. There was the face of his mother, crystal clear, as if she had been there to pose for it. Throttle could only stare at the gift and then put his arms around the older woman in thanks beyond any words. She placed her arms around him and let him enjoy the mother comfort he longed for and needed so desperately.  

No, this was not the son she had birthed, but one of many sons that had given all to try and save their world. And now, the love they would share could help them both to recover from the loss they had in common. 

After a long silence, he titled his head up slightly to look into her face.

"Why haven't you ever told anyone your name?

She smiled quietly and in a soft whisper of a voice said; "The name I had, died with the person I was and I haven't found one to go with the person I've become. What would you call me? "

After thinking a moment and not moving from her embrace he smiled.

"Morning, because to me, your like the beginning of a bright new day."

"I think I like that. Yes, Morning it is."

They smiled at each other, grateful for the new bond that they shared and their renewed hope of family.

The End


End file.
